Pounding Pavement
by shecalledoutawarning
Summary: A young journalist falls in love with Bruce Wayne. Drama follows. IT'S FINISHED MY LOVELIES SO READ AND REVIEW POR FAVOR! mwah! PS I realize the ending is...abrubt...it's supposed to be
1. Fending Off Griffith

I do not own Batman. Wish I did own Christian Bale however... :)

She could not believe it. Again. It was happening again. She had sworn to herself last time that if Griffith Richmond materialized just off her elbow in that creepy way of his ever ever again, she would make like a DARE kid and just say no. But it was always just too tempting. There were few people within Meara Braden's circle of friends that she could verbally spar with, and Griffith, as slimy as he was, was extremely intelligent. It was fun to war with him. It was fun to stretch the limits of her vocabulary, and find the hidden meanings in his words. It was a game. The object of the game being for him to get her in his bed. For her, to evade his advances. They had been playing this game for a few years and she could admit that she found him amusing, at times downright entertaining. And he was never around very often, which made him easier to tolerate. But in the past few months, he had been cropping up more and more at the social events she attended, and was becoming more and more persistent. It was annoying, and she always felt guilty after she talked to him. Even though technically she had done nothing wrong. But here he was, at her boss's retirement party of all places, leaning against the bar, wearing an all-together too tight black shirt and much too much hair product.

"Hi Griffith" she said, carefully not looking in his eyes, instead focusing on the bottle of Absolut three feet in front of her face.

"Meara" he murmured breathily.

She rolled her eyes. And continued staring at the vodka.

He leaned closer to her, placing his hand carefully, decorously, on her lower back.

"Let me buy you a drink?"

She stood up then, and said affably, "You really can't keep doing this Griffith"

"He's entirely too nice for you Meara. The man, if you can even call him that, lacks backbone. Not attractive."

They were now weaving through the throng. He was not easily shaken.

"I think he's sweet" she said smiling

"You would my dear. But a woman such as yourself, an educated, classy, _extremely sexy _woman who is irritatingly smart to boot…well how can _that" _he waved his hand toward Emil who was dancing like an idiot with a fat little girl "attract you? Surely you crave a little more excitement? A little more _danger_?" He narrowed his eyes and smiled in a way that can only be described as leering.

"Good lord I'm only 22, you make me sound like a middle aged woman"

"Look at him!" he pointed with exasperation at her boyfriend

"I would never expect someone like you to understand this, but Emil, though he does not possess a bodybuilder's physique or Stanford graduate's mind, is NICE, a quality I just so happen to find very attractive."

"You'll give Meara. You're the kind of person who needs mental and…physical stimulation."

"Bye Griffith" She picked up a little speed, directing herself toward the dancefloor and Emil's flailing limbs

Griffith watched her disappear into the crowd, shook his head, and made an honorable retreat.

Meara Braden was sharp if she was anything. Born of a pediatrician father, and a mother was an actual rocket scientist, she had an extremely good head. But what people didn't get was why she was so beautifu. She was pretty in an unbelievable, supermodel type way. Curly dark hair, brown eyes, full lips, and pale skin. She was like a modern day Snow White. Having graduated from Princeton University with a Masters Degree in English and Journalism, she went to work immediately in her hometown. It paid very little, but the hands-on experience was fabulous and though the people she worked with were deadbeats, her boss Marty was a good man. Now however, he was retiring. A few weeks ago he called her into his office to ask her a few questions, and got out of her that he was the main reason that she had stayed with his paper as long as she had. The next thing she knew, he had called up the editor of Gotham City Times, and gotten her a job there just like that. No interview or formal resume. Marty patted her on the back fondly and said "I see great things in your future kid!" before scooting her out the door.

"_Why?!" _her mother cried "_Why the most dangerous city in the nation?!"_. What her mother didn't understand, bless her, was that Meara had not pursued journalism to put it to use covering the local bake-off and Edna Morry's 100th birthday. She wanted _real news_. Something extraordinary to write about and possibly somewhere she could do some good. Gotham City, with it's soaring crime rates, drug use, prostitution, illegal gambling and God knows what else, fit the bill. It also had a real live _superhero._ Now that was interesting. I mean the guy ran around in a cape and mask. The odd thing was though, he was doing some good. Some of most dangerous criminals had recently been jailed, drug lords and maniacs and the like. How amazingly awesome would it be to interview this Batman?

So it was off to Gotham City…


	2. It Sure As Hell Ain't Normal

-1Meara stared out the window of the cab, through the pouring rain, at the tall dirty buildings they were passing. Filthy actually. They seemed to be not quite there, like smudges against the sky that the rain couldn't wash away. Insubstantial. She shivered and pulled her drab rain coat closer around her, though she wasn't cold. There was something about this place that was unnatural. Like Newton's Laws might not be law here. Like the rain might never cease.

She shook her head a little to banish these thoughts and leaned her head back against the worn taxi seat to think about Emil. What to do about Emil. She liked him, she really did, but she was not sure if she loved him. That was probably a bad sign. When you love somebody you're supposed to know right away right? It's supposed to be a hugely powerful emotion, you're supposed to be head over heels. Well she wasn't head over heels that was for sure. Most of the time when they went out she found herself irritated and exasperated by the end of the night. And he didn't seem to notice, he was terrible at picking up on her mood. Well, men were like that naturally, she couldn't be angry about _that_. Then what was the matter? He did everything he was supposed to do, he was kind to her, tried to understand her, but there was no fire in their relationship. There never had been, she had been a fool to think that it would suddenly happen. She could not picture herself in bed with him. There you had it. They had never _been together_. In fact, she had never been with anyone. Mostly because her standards were ridiculous and she wasn't going to sleep with a guy she was not completely in love with. Her college friends didn't get it. You don't sleep with someone because you _love _them for chrissake. You sleep with them because of mutual physical attraction and because you _like_ them. Get with it Meara, you're never gonna get laid with an attitude like that. She smiled a little thinking about it, a sad sweet smile. She was old-fashioned that way. And it was a decision that she didn't regret. For somebody with such trouble opening up to people, sex was the final threshold of _knowing._ That was a terrifying prospect. She didn't want to give herself completely to somebody she only liked. Her friends didn't get that either. It was not giving yourself completely to somebody, it was merely a lay. It was supposed to be fun. They let it alone after a while. The current situation wasn't for lack of wanting on Emil's part. He was a guy after all, can't fault him for that, and to his credit, he never pushed her excessively. But things couldn't continue in this way. It was getting kind of tense.

When they pulled up outside her apartment building, it didn't register at first. The building was located far enough away from the inner city to be reasonably safe (as safe as one could expect to be in Gotham) and far enough away from the outskirts, which were populated by the disgustingly wealthy, so it's inhabitants could not be mistaken for people of consequence. Meara smiled for the first time in what seemed like days. This would be fine.

As the cabbie helped her with her luggage while balancing an enormous black umbrella, Meara lost herself in thought wondering what this new job would be like. She had never met anybody associated with the paper, she was walking in blind. This prospect would worry other people, but Meara was not worried. She had always been a little bit of a loner. A tall, painfully shy child, she preferred her own company to other little girls. It was like they were operating on totally different wavelengths and she had realized quickly that it was better to bypass the embarrassment altogether rather than make an effort to assimilate. She read much more than a normal little girl. The sensitive and awkward child grew into a mature and well-adjusted teenager. She wasn't like the other kids but she sure wasn't stupid. In junior high she flew under the radar, and by high school she had found her voice. People were a little bit in awe of her, she was smart and pretty and treated the social hierarchy like it was below her. However, she still wasn't normal and never would be. It was hard to make real friends so she made due with half-hearted ones. She got through high school wearing emotional armor and barbed wire fence around her heart which was too easily wounded. Meara had the time of her life in college and the barriers came down but she never forgot to be wary. It was hard for her to let people in all the way. By the time she graduated, she had evolved into a force to be reckoned with. Meara thought about these things as she robotically entered the elevator, walked down the hall, found her key in the bottom of her pocket, and unlocked the door. She dumped her bags with great pomp and circumstance onto the carpet and looked around. It was dark, kind of shabby and depressing, but that was remediable. It was partway furnished, with a small table and chairs in the kitchen, some basic appliances like a fridge and washer and dryer. She hated Laundromats, they creeped her out for some reason. If she washed the windows to allow more light it would halfway solve the problem. There was an overstuffed couch in front of her facing a blank wall. Off the right there was an open space for a table and a doorframe through which appeared to be a kitchenette. To the left there was a hallway that she promptly discovered contained a bathroom, a small office size room, and a bigger bedroom. In the bedroom, to her surprise and delight, there was a huge bureau made of what looked like oak. It seemed slightly out of place, too beautiful and old to be in a place like this. She fell in love with it immediately. There also was a dusty antique looking lamp in the corner, which was odd, and a queen size bed frame.

Overall, it was nothing some lamps and homey pillows wouldn't fix. The first order of business would be a trip to the home depot and Walmart. She was still in the happy carefree early stage of life where no _stuff_ had been accumulated. The landlord and _very _helpful cabbie entered the room behind her with the rest of her worldly belongings and set them gently on the floor. The landlord quickly left after she thanked him but the cab driver lingered. She smiled at him. It was probably a slow day for business and he had gone the extra mile in hope of a tip. After paying him, thanking him and seeing him out the door, she flopped onto the couch not caring to think what sort of vermin might be hiding there, residue of the last owner. She would sleep on the couch tonight and attempt to make the apartment into a home tomorrow. She called her parents and then sister to let them know she had got in, and slid easily past questions involving the aesthetic appeal of the city and her living arrangements. She had no intention of crying to mother about a situation she had stubbornly gotten herself into. There was no backing out now, better make the best of it.

It was seven o'clock now, so she apologetically called the landlord and asked if there was any local takeout places. He told her there was a complimentary phonebook somewhere in the kitchenette and hung up. She found the phonebook and called the local Chinese place. While waiting for the food, she unpacked her clothes into the bureau and did a little housekeeping. The food arrived after she had washed the windows, wiped down the kitchen, figured out he lights, and thoroughly inspected every inch of the apartment. It looked downright respectable now. She plugged in her little boom box, a prized possession, and put on a Frank Sinatra CD which always lifted her up and ate silently at the little table, lost in thought.

She slept on the couch that night with her dorm room linens and her own pillow. She was a little afraid about spending the night here alone but she turned the radio to some indie station and drifted off to soft jazz.

In the morning, it was surprisingly easy to get started. There was so much to do she didn't have time to ponder. It was Saturday so she showered, dressed and was out the door by nine with her checkbook and the "complimentary" phonebook stowed in her big bag, just in case. After getting a large coffee and bagel at the delicatessen on the corner, she went to Wal-Mart. At the end of the day she had ordered a mattress, bought enough food to tide her over for the week, and gotten some household necessities. She was on the city bus, wearily staring out the window, when someone sat down next to her. She turned to face a man staring at her with a scowl on his face.

"This is _my _seat." he declared with authority, then squinted at her. "What's your name?" he asked, then reached up and pushed the side of her head with force, nearly knocking her off the seat.

He reached for her purse but she reflexively yanked it back. At that second the bus stopped and the man tottered off. Meara was shaken but not hurt, she wiped a few unbidden tears from her eyes. After a few seconds, she glanced around at the other patrons on the crowded bus. People were studiously avoiding her eyes, looking out the window. It was eerily quiet. Well that was nice. In any other place in the world, somebody would have intervened. She got off the bus at her stop and walked home as quickly as possible avoiding people's eyes, sure that they were avoiding hers as well. Welcome to Gotham.


	3. Stanton, Society, and a Stranger

-1Meara entered the lobby of the Gotham City Times on Monday morning with some trepidation. She was directed by the man at the front desk to Mr. Stanton's office. When she reached the top floor, she stepped into another, smaller lobby with a very pretty redhead typing something at a desk right in front of the elevator doors. She smiled.

"You must be Meara Braden. You can go ahead in, Mr. Stanton is expecting you."

Meara pulled her shoulders back and lifted her head using her five feet eleven inches to it's fullest. When she opened the imposing, heavily gilted door, she was confronted with the sight of a big man. An _enormous_ man. He was probably physically the biggest person she'd ever seen. Mr. Stanton was a black man with a bald head which was at the moment bent over the morning paper. When the door opened she stood there for a moment, uncertain. He finished the article he was reading, folded the paper, and looked up at her. To her intense relief, he smiled and said

"Miss Braden. Have a seat."

His voice was deep and rich and didn't scare her at all. In fact it was the warmest voice she had heard in days. When she sat she couldn't help but glance at the paper and notice that it was the Gotham Herald. He noticed where her eyes were and said with a small smile

"Know thine enemy."

She laughed. She liked him already.

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James Stanton was not a man who played games. He told Meara up front that he had seen her writing and liked it a lot. It was honest and empathetic, two things that were hard to balance in this business. But he still would not have hired her without an interview if it had not been for the glowing recommendation from Marty Vibrazzi, a man whom Stanton just so happened to hold in high esteem.

"Think of this, Miss Braden, as a very low key, informal…interview."

She sucked in her breath a little, but kept her composure and nodded.

It was a standard interview, all business and hard facts, except for the last question. Mr. Stanton leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his formidable chest.

"Why on earth would somebody as green as you come to Gotham by choice?"

He looked directly in her eyes.

She pressed her lips together.

"I'm up for the challenge sir. A little grease never bothered me."

He laughed boomingly with appreciation.

"Alright Miss Braden,"

"You can call me Meara sir, if you want to…"

"Alright Meara, you're _officially _officially hired now. Good job on the interview. Most newcomers try to impress me with their amazing feats."

She laughed. He continued.

"But I'm afraid you're going to have to start at the bottom and work your way up just like everybody else. I'm the boss, I can't give special treatment to people I like."

He smiled again, barely perceptibly.

"So your first assignment will be in the Society section. We're short on staff in that area I'm afraid. People don't like writing about the upper-class, important people in this town for some reason…"

She suppressed a grin

"I'm sure you'll do fine. I'll send you to Eileen who's in charge down there. She'll get you started. Give this to her."

He wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to her. As she was leaving she couldn't help but ask

"Is that 'Society' with a capital S sir?"

"It is in this town kid."

OK, so "Society" was not where she wanted to be. She could handle that. It would probably involve dressing up and playing heiress for a few nights, and then writing about Mrs. So-and-So's new handbag line coming out and Mr. La-ti-dah's son's wedding. It might be fun to wear a ridiculously expensive gown for once, something Eileen told her quietly the company provided for the Society reporters. That was a perk she hadn't figured on.

Looking back on her time in Stanton's office, she realized that it might have been wise to tell him that she had a hard time with huge groups of people she didn't know. Well, she was perfectly fine with it actually, but her quietness was at times mistaken for aloofness and could make people think she was cold. But it would be fine. This might actually turn out well, because it would involve no divulgence of personal information about herself. Billionaires don't want to hear about a lowly reporter's life, especially a reporter with no money. She would be pleasant and make it known she was a reporter, then they would be dying to talk about the details of their family tree.

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Meara clutched her handbag with unnecessary force and sought out a wandering waiter with a tray of champagne flutes. She gulped it down as seemingly as possibly under the circumstances. This was impossible. Her night at the famous Wayne mansion had started off well. Her dress was a gorgeous red that contrasted sharply with her pale skin and nearly black hair, and made it seem more vivid by comparison. It was almost a little too conspicuous for a reporter but Eileen, who had kindly accompanied her to find a suitably dress, had gushed exuberantly and would not let her try anything else on once she had gotten out of the young reporter that she did indeed love it. Her hair was behaving for once, its curls smooth and glossy. The people were extraordinarily polite in that deceptive calculating sort of way. It was a bit dazing at first: the grandeur of the house, the clothing these people wore so carelessly that would pay off her college debt easily, the _splendor_ of it all. She could not get over how every person there was good-looking, or if not good looking exactly, very distinguished. These people could afford to buy an aquiline nose and good hair she reminded herself.

Meara had chatted up a good many people and let it be known that she was a reporter, and to her astonishment and disbelief, they immediately and mysteriously became vague and wandered off when they learned this fact. Preening Mommas who spotted her a potential trophy wife for their son went from affectionate to down-right brusque instantly. She could not for the life of her figure out why. Her little handbag containing her phone and pen and notebook had remained sadly unopened throughout the course of the evening. These people had money and power. They should be jumping on the opportunity to trumpet the mundane doings of their petty lives, but they just seemed to wish she would go away. It made no sense what so ever.

This is was she was thinking about as made the umpteenth walk around the room, trying to find somebody new to talk to. The situation was getting desperate and no longer able to mask her feelings with a polite smile meant to engage, Meara stomped over to the bar and ordered a martini. When she whirled around again to face the room like a soldier heading back into battle, she noticed a solitary figure standing apart from the fray as she was. He was looking at her and laughing. Her eyes widened with embarrassment at the realization that he had witnessed her defeat, small tantrum, and flee to alcohol. Now he was walking towards her.

"You look like you needed that." he glanced at the martini glass still clutched in her hand.

She had no idea what to say, it would be entirely inappropriate to explain to this stranger why she was so frustrated, as he was part of the group that was causing her woe.

"I'm Bruce Wayne." he said graciously offering his hand for her to shake, or for all she knew, kiss.

Now she _really _couldn't bash these people, who were _his_ guests.

"Meara Braden. I'm a reporter" she added as an afterthought.

She was half afraid this genuinely courteous, disarmingly handsome person would turn snooty like his peers at this information, but instead he laughed.

"That explains it."

"What?"

"Why they've been trying their best to get you to leave."

"Do they hate newspapers?" she asked, irritated. To her dismay he laughed again.

"No, they simply prefer to keep their private lives private. It's common knowledge that eighty percent of the people you see before you got their finery and high social standing through dirty and dishonest means. Everybody knows, but it simply would not be seemly to have it printed in the paper. Decorum, you know?"

He smiled at the look on her face, and leaned past her to tell the bartender for "whatever she's having".

"I saw you first come in." he admitted. "I've never seen you before and you looked like the most interesting person to talk to."

"Well, I'm glad I look like an interesting person Mr. Wayne. I do aim to please." she said saucily, and felt immediately ashamed.

"I'm sorry, that was rude. This is my first assignment with the Gotham City Times you see, and so far it's not going well."

Wouldn't it be humiliating to get fired without finishing out her first week? Stanton would call her into his office and shake his head sorrowfully, telling her that she simply had not lived up to his expectations. That was a horrible thought. She liked Stanton, she wanted to earn his respect.

Bruce Wayne stared into his Grey Goose martini like it held the secret to immortality, took a long pull of it (he looked better taking a drink than any man had a right to), and then turned his penetrating gaze to her. She stood up to it, meeting his eyes and holding them. He seemed to be deliberating with himself about something.

"Well, I'm only one person, but you could interview me if you would like." he offered humbly. She suddenly saw a way out of this mess.

"Would you really?!" she asked her face brightening

"I'm not incredibly interesting, but I could probably provide what you need."

She smiled suddenly at the different meanings _that _sentence could take, and she thought she saw something flicker over his countenance, like he wanted to laugh, but he was far too well bred to acknowledge the double entendre. He could not repress a twinkle in his eye however when she responded.

"Thank you Mr. Wayne, I'm sure you can."

They arranged to meet the next day at a coffee shop in the area to conduct the interview. He excused himself then, saying he had to see to some business.

When Meara arrived home that evening she wearily took off her heels and shook her hair out of its bonds, allowing it to return to it's natural state of organized chaos that somehow looked fine on her head. She changed quickly into pjs, then called Eileen. The woman was dying to know how the party went and nearly had a fit when Meara announced that she was to interview Bruce Wayne tomorrow.

"You're kidding."

"What?"

"Bruce Wayne? You're sure you got the name right?"

"Yes, my hearing is exceptional."

"What did he look like?"

"He was tallish, muscular but not obscenely so, very handsome actually." she smiled to herself.

"Did he talk much? Was he an active part of the party?"

"No on both counts. He seemed quiet but intelligent, and was making an solid effort to _not _be an active part of the party."

"Meara! That's him! You're interviewing Bruce Wayne tomorrow!"

"Eileen that's what I just said."

"You're new here, I forgot you wouldn't know. We sent you to the Wayne mansion but didn't expect you to talk to the host. He's very secretive, snooty some say. Doesn't talk to anybody. Avoids reporters like the plague."

For a fleeting moment Meara thought of herself. That was exactly how others had described her. Natural reserve is often mistaken for aloofness.

"That's strange. He was the one who approached me. He noticed I was getting a bit…er… it wasn't going well."

"Sweetheart, it doesn't surprise me. Men are naturally attracted to beautiful women."

Meara rolled her eyes. Lust had ceased to impress her years ago.

"Well, I'll call you when it's done with."

"Alright then. See you tomorrow."

"Bye."

After she hung up, she thought about Eileen. The woman couldn't be much older than Meara, and she seemed a little lonely. She was not part of high society but was too classy to consort with the seedy side of the city, and she was too sweet and open to become friends with the uptight and cynical older reporters. Meara decided to make an effort to befriend her.

Feeling good about Eileen, deflated about the evening, and not quite sure about Bruce Wayne she lay down to try and sleep. She couldn't stop her mind from straying to his face however. _This is not good, I have a boyfriend_ she thought frantically. But that did not stop the face-that-was-not-her-boyfriend from appearing in her mind's eye. She appreciated physical beauty as much as any other person, but she also knew the measure of a man could not be known from a few minutes conversation.

Filing Bruce Wayne away in her head for later evaluation, she closed her eyes.


	4. Wayne's World haha

**Please Review!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need some sort of feedback, people are reading (or at least clicking on the link to) my story, but nobody has anything to say. Constructive criticism is helpful and welcome. If you think that it's starting out slow, enjoy the build-up. It develops the characters and makes the climax more dramatic.**

**I'm going to Chicago for about a week so there might not be updates for a little while. If you like the opening of the story, bookmark it or something! J**

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Bruce Wayne was not a sociable person to say the least. He liked privacy. In his line of work, it was not wise to get too close to anybody. That had been the undoing of many people with a duel identity. If people didn't like Bruce Wayne, they would not be too curious as to what he did in his spare time. They would not ask him out. They would generally leave him alone. This was ideal. But that's not to say it didn't get lonely. Alfred and Lucius were his sole confidantes, and only real friends. As playboy billionaire by day, vigilante by night, he could not afford to have a real life. This included women. 'Absolutely no women' was his own rule. Intimacy of any kind was not an option. So he had no idea what possessed him to do it. To approach a woman in the hopes of engaging her in conversation. He couldn't help himself.

As a billionaire, he had to throw a party once in a while, simply to avoid suspicion. It was acceptable to be private, it was not acceptable to not invite the other rich people to your house when you had the biggest mansion in town. So the odd social function was obligatory. Which is not to say he enjoyed the company. People with a lot of money usually tend to be extreme ends of the spectrum: either very interesting and intelligent, or very dull, stupid, and uncompassionate. The latter was extremely abundant in Gotham. So that's why Bruce was avoiding speaking to people like the plague. He stood near the wall looking unapproachable for the most part. He nodded to people when they arrived, but did not much notice them. Until a tall figure in a red dress walked through the door, with dark hair, doe eyes and pale skin. He was not the only person to sit up and take notice. Several other pairs of eyes were taking in her appearance. Mothers with unwed sons appraising her, the unwed sons themselves with their jaws slightly dropped, and older people taking her in smilingly. She was obviously new to the neighborhood but had to have money to be here. And such a pretty young thing. They wondered who her family was.

Bruce watched her enter the room, and could not take his eyes off her. She was positively vibrant in comparison to the other people here. He watched her making the rounds of the room talking to people and smiling. For some reason the greeting was less warm than at the beginning of the evening, they seemed to be shunning her, and she was starting to look worried. As she approached somebody new, the target actually turned around and scurried away. At this she stopped in her tracks. The genial, vapid smile she wore suddenly vanished. Bruce grinned with growing amusement. She clenched her hands, spun around, marched toward the bar and said barked something at the snooty bartender. He laughed out loud. The bartender handed her a martini with a scowl and she thanked him sweetly, took a long pull of it, and turned around. That's when she saw him taking in her performance. _She really is quite stunning _he thought as he blatantly admired her from afar. She was looking at him, and she looked far from amused. There was something about her. It was refreshing, this newcomer who had not yet learned how to be manipulative and not built a façade. Poor thing would get eaten alive in this group. He wanted to talk to her, if only for a few minutes. It had been a long while since he had flirted with a woman. It had been a long while since he had _wanted _to. He made his way towards her thinking _I'll talk to her for a few minutes, warn her about the web of spiders she's descending into, and then walk away. That's it._

He did indeed talk to her for a few tantalizing minutes. A new reporter for the Society section of the Gotham City Times. No wonder she was having problems. The girl was sharp as well as pretty. He wanted to talk to her again, but that would be stupid. Well…

" Well, I'm only one person, but you could interview me if you would like."

_What am I doing?_ he asked himself

"Would you really?!"

"I'm not incredibly interesting, but I could probably provide what you need."

_I sound like a letch. Fabulous. Now she thinks I just want in her pants._

"I'm sure you can Mr. Wayne." she said boldly.

He laughed at that one, pleasantly surprised. So they decided to meet the next day to conduct an interview. That's when he saw Alfred looking at him thunderously from across the way. He did not look happy.

_Uh oh.._.

Reluctant to part with her, he told her he needed to attend to a some business, touched her arm briefly, and took his leave.

_That was fun_ he thought with a spring in step as he walked over to Alfred.

They silently joined up and strode out of the ballroom without exchanging one word. Once they were alone, Alfred turned to him.

"Master Wayne, I'm not sure that flirting would be the best use of the evening. I believe the object of the night was observe the actions of one Mr. Grey. Who he talks to and if he acts oddly."

"Don't worry Alfred, I wasn't telling her all about my nightly escapades as Batman."

He glanced back towards the bar but she had disappeared. He sighed inwardly, then was buoyed when he realized he would be talking to her again tomorrow.

"Put that lovely creature out of your head for the time being Master Wayne. We have more important matters to attend to."


	5. You're Not a Spelunker

-1I'm back! And making an attempt to pick this thing up again. Bear with me.

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James Grey was not a compassionate man. Nor was he an understanding, merciful or patient man. This information was becoming increasingly clear to Grey's unfortunate nephew

"So you left it? All of it?"

"Yes sir."

"Were you simply feeling a sense of urgency Alex? Is that why the clippings slipped your mind?"

"Sir, you had instructed me to 'get the hell out the Dodge' in your own words and --"

"What could have possibly possessed you Alex, to collect those articles in the first place? How could such an laughably idiotic notion have occurred to you?"

James Grey's voice was slippery and sleek, and his words were becoming more and more enunciated as he continued.

"You do realize don't you, that all it would take is a new renter with any sort curiosity to find the clippings and ask who the previous renter was?"

The sense of unease in Alex's chest was growing…

He was silent.

Grey continued in his oily tones.

"I completely understand that the _bureau _had to stay…what I don't understand is why you forgot to grab your ill-advised stack of articles about a seemingly random series of break-ins that you were keeping _in _the bureau."

Alex made a valiant attempt to defend himself without seeming disrespectful or scared stiff, which he most undoubtedly was.

"Uncle James, I was keeping the articles for myself, just to keep track of what we had done. It was an impromptu scrapbook. In hindsight, it was not smart. I'm asking for your forgiveness now, and offering to attempt to mend my error."

"Anybody else Alexander, anybody but my own blood would be in the river right now."

"I know sir." he said quietly.

"What are you proposing to do now? To 'mend your error'?"

"Uncle, we've done break-ins before…"

-------------------------------------------------------

Bruce Wayne and Meara Braden sat in the coffee shop for exactly three hours and fourteen minutes. And the conversation could only be called an interview in the formal sense for precisely twelve minutes of it.

It had started out with the best intentions, for both parties involved. After they had greeted each other and ordered, Meara began.

"So Bruce Wayne, tell me a little bit about yourself. Your family, background, occupation. The usual."

He noted that the woman looked as good in the cream colored turtleneck and jeans she was wearing as an evening gown.

Bruce was polite and answered the questions accordingly, but was not forthcoming with details. When she had seemed to get as much information out of him as necessary to write a breezy society column, she closed her notebook and looked at him with sparkly eyes. He leaned back in his chair and smiled, not saying a word.

"I commend you sir." she said slipping the notebook back into her bag, and looking at him with an amused expression. He laughed.

"On what?"

"You have obviously given interviews before and I'm sure the interviewer got about as far as I did. One could go so far as to call you evasive."

"The interviewee in question madam, likes his privacy."

"You volunteered to do this."

"Indeed I did."

She sighed melodramatically and sat back, sipping from her bucket-like mug with ease.

"So off the record then…"

Bruce Wayne and Meara Braden sat in the coffee shop for exactly three hours and two minutes on off the record time. He fascinated her. The sad story of his parents, his mysterious disappearance and return, and now he was running his father's company as invisibly as possible.

He asked her about where she had grown up, and she had him holding his sides with laughter as she told her tale. She was from a classic, massive Italian family. A quiet father who didn't have to raise his voice to get attention, a matriarch who was queen of the stovetop, and five brothers and one sister who was the youngest at fifteen. They were spread out over the country but the family headquarters was in Minnesota where her parents and younger siblings resided.

"How on earth does an Italian clan end up in _Minnesota_?" he wondered aloud.

"That's a very good question, but I simply don't have an answer. It's one of those things that's always been, always will be. Nobody thinks about it much."

She turned the conversation back to him eventually. He skirted her questions expertly as she doggedly persevered.

"I still don't understand though. What is it exactly that _you _do?" she questioned.

"Mostly a lot of lovely paperwork and making appearances and executive decisions. Can't say that the whole thing really impassions me to be quite honest."

"So what do you do in your free time then? I've heard some positively _scandalous_ rumors about you…"

She smiled wickedly, put her hands together as though praying, and drummed her fingertips against each other like an evil mastermind.

"Well listen to them. Apparently I am a spoiled playboy who likes more than one woman at a time and…spelunking."

She snorted into her cup.

"So all that is true?"

Utter disbelief was etched on her face.

"They all say and think and claim to know that it's true. Why shouldn't it be?"

"You're telling me to believe that?"

"Why not?"

She studied him, then shook her head.

"Whatever dude. You're not a spelunker."

Now he laughed. Then looked at her with interest.

"So you believe I'm a playboy?"

"That one I'm not sure about yet."

Bruce Wayne and Meara Braden parted on the sidewalk outside the café. As they walked in opposite directions, her to find a bus stop and him to his car, they both made an effort to not look back over their shoulder.


	6. On Love and Lack Thereof

-1That night, Meara hit the end button on her phone with a decisive punch. The deed was done, and she never did anything half-assed. Emil had taken it quite well, all things considered. He was just so _nice_. She had been as kind as possible, telling him that it definitely was not him, it was just not going to work out. It was a coincidence that she was breaking up with him after talking to Bruce Wayne. Purely coincidence. She made a mental note to tell her mother to not spread news of the amiable break-up around back home, lest Griffith find out and call her up to sing the I-told-you-so song and an offer to take her to dinner. That was an icky prospect. Emil deserved somebody like himself. Somebody who was content to always stay on the sunny side and ignore the shadows. Which was not a sin, it was just that Meara couldn't live that way. The problem, she explained, was that she had happy moods and sad moods, and Emil seemed to be stuck in permanent cheerful mode. She sighed. It was the fair thing to do right? If she knew it wasn't going anywhere, she had to let him off the hook so he could find somebody to appreciate him for who he was. Somebody as bouncy as him. Meara fully realized that she could never have married the man. Her moods would have seemed even glummer being constantly compared to his. So why was she not feeling relieved? Why was she feeling…a little sad?

She tossed her phone across the room, vaguely in the direction of her new Pier 1 overstuffed chair, and watched it hit the seat and bounce (probably due to the overstuffed-ness) hitting the floor with a resounding _thunk_. She stared at it emotionlessly. She was not a phone person, she hated talking on the phone. It hardly ever rang except when it was her mother. Which did not count. Meara had been a solitary person her whole life. It was partly due to her inexplicable inability to honestly talk to people about herself, her intimidating appearance and brains, and partly voluntary. She could count on one hand and have fingers left over the number of people she really connected with. The people who got her bizarre sense of humor, understood her big words, and did not ask why she had yet to just go ahead and do the deed with a guy. She smiled to herself a little sadly. Men sometimes asked her if she realized that she was beautiful and that other guys were simply afraid to come talk to her. She should be flattered, happy. But in the end, it left her standing there by herself at parties, desperately wanting to reach out and talk but having no idea how. It was lonely, even by her standards. Every girl, no matter what she says, would like somebody to share a meal with, somebody to whisper to in bed at night. Every girl wants to know somebody so intimately that they can sit together for an hour not talking, not racking your brain for something to say, and it does not feel awkward.

She stood up and went to find something to eat, head still whirling. She was slightly irritated with herself. Did it even exist, I mean, really? For some people it obviously did. Her parents were built for each other, their extremes balanced out. Only a man as quiet as her father could get along with a woman as headstrong as her mother. But did everybody have a soul mate like that? Somebody who just effortlessly clicked? Was it just some people who were like that, and others had to work to make it work? Compromise themselves and sacrifice so much for a marriage? And that was not taking into account her now solo state. Was there even somebody out there for her?

Heaving a sigh, she rinsed a package of blueberries and forked them into her mouth. It didn't matter. She hadn't found anybody yet and probably never would. Maybe she was one of those people that end up rich old maids with nobody to spend money on so they vacation in exotic places all year long. And dine alone. The prospect wasn't so bad to some people, but in her heart of hearts, Meara did not want to be alone. She was willing to sacrifice a lot if she found a man who just _got _her right off the bad.

She finished off the blueberries very quickly and decided to go to the gym after dropping off her column at the office. It was way to dangerous to run outside in this town. She wanted to get out of the house, because even though she was not a phone person, she couldn't stop thinking about a certain young man with deep eyes who had no reason to call.

------------------------------------------------------------

Bruce berated himself all the way home from the coffee shop, all that night and all the next day. What he had done was stupid and impulsive and would not happen again under any circumstances. But he couldn't stop seeing her face in his mind's eye, and her laughing voice saying _Whatever dude _was on loop in his head. She hadn't bought into his alias as easily as everybody else did. But she hadn't prodded either. It bothered him somehow, that she might believe the misogynistic, two-at-a-time, playboy image. The same image he tried to hard to reinforce with everybody else. Why did he care what she thought? She seemed to be thinking a lot of things that she wasn't saying. The girl was wreaking havoc in his head.

He talked himself out of it. It wasn't such a bad thing really. So he had spent the afternoon with her so what. He could have a purely recreational relationship with her. Be Bruce-sans-mask with her. Keep pretending, which was what he did with everybody. He didn't want to do that with her, but if he wanted to see her again, he had to.

And so on went this cyclical reasoning in his brain for two days. Two days of arguing with himself. Two days of talking himself in and out of calling her. He decided in the end to throw caution to the wind. He wanted to see her again, and he would stay under the guise of mysterious billionaire. If she got suspicious he would wing it.

Love was an unreachable ideal in his experience. The only people he had ever seen that were truly in love were his parents. The rest of the world was only capable of like and lust and if love was ever achieved, it was promptly destroyed with cheating or lying or failure to compromise. Or at least in the circles he moved in. He couldn't really speak for the couples that didn't live in mansions and didn't operate under any sort of financial restraint. Some small part of him had held out hope for all these years that maybe what his parents had was possible for him too. Maybe someday if the right person came along he could juggle being Batman and being in a relationship at the same time. But the right person had never shown up. He had a very strong distaste for the girls he met who had gone to Ivy League schools because their father had paid for a new library, or girls who were so smart but so focused on a cushy seat as CEO of some huge company. They were all the same. He was utterly sick of it.

The bottom line was, it was very naïve of him to think that there was a woman out there who would want to live with him. He was in a manner of speaking, emotionally unavailable. Being Batman was a time consuming effort.

But he could at least make an attempt.

He liked Meara, he liked her a lot.


	7. Remember to Breathe

-1Bruce called Meara. Every doubt he had had, the seventy two hours of banging his head against the wall and calling himself weak, it was dispelled the second he heard her voice on the other end. He was very glad he had decided to call her, even though he stuttered in the beginning awkwardly, and wished he could see her face to see if she was laughing at him. He sank with relief against a wall however, when she shyly said that she was glad he had called. That was a good sign. He asked if she was going to be a permanent writer for the society section. She said she hoped not, she could only interview her one willing candidate so many times. He said he would be glad to let her interview him again. It was in this roundabout fashion that Bruce set up another date. This was the tricky part.

"I was wondering if you were free Friday night?"

"I am."

He wanted something with a little more substance than meeting for coffee this time. He asked her to dinner, and afterwards he could escort her to one of the society balls, held at Mr. James Grey's residence.

"That way, you kill two birds with one stone. I'll have somebody to talk to at this wretched thing, and if you get sick of me, you can go attempt to find somebody new to interview."

"I wouldn't worry about me getting sick of you. I'm sure it's not in vogue right now to escort seedy reporters to parties in mansions."

"You look nothing like 'seedy' and you know it."

She laughed, thanked him, and said she would be very pleased to go with him, dinner included.

When they hung up, Meara did a little victory dance hopping up and down, and Bruce allowed himself one triumphant punch in the air before striding back down the hall toward his study.

----------------------------------------------------

The next day, Wednesday, when Meara went into the office, she saw a small group of people standing together talking and Eileen a little ways away leaning against the water cooler looking bored. When she saw Meara her eyes lit.

"Hey! You have no idea how great it is to see somebody under forty around this joint."

"We youngsters gotta stick together El. Listen, I need a favor."

"Sure."

"I'm going to another ball thing this Friday night and I need another dress."

Eileen's eyes widened.

"Stanton is sending you again?"

"Well not exactly, I kind of got invited."

"By who?"

"Bruce Wayne."

Eileen's reaction was hilarious. Her jaw slowly dropped and eyebrows practically disappeared into the stratosphere, and then she very slowly shook her head in sheer disbelief. Meara only had to nod once, and Eileen was actually jumping up and down right next to the water cooler. Meara decided not to tell her that that had been her own reaction to the invitation.

"_How did you get invited by Bruce Wayne you are going to tell me exactly what happened when you got to that party and anything that happened afterward and you are not going to leave anything out!_" she stopped to breathe.

Meara told everything. The party, the café, the phone call.

"So you wanna go shopping with me tonight? Do you mind? I hate shopping by myself."

"No of course I don't mind. You're gonna need me to find you another smashing dress like that red number. And now that we know you have an interested billionaire looking your way, it's going to be sexy."

"Not too sexy Eileen." said Meara seeing the direction this was taking.

"No no you're going to look classy but we can also show off you body to your best advantage too honey because" she glanced down at Meara's business like skirt and blouse "if doesn't look like your wardrobe is having a lot of fun."

"Will Stanton mind if we charge it to the company? This isn't totally work related…"

"No, that's what the account is there for. Two gowns isn't gonna hurt anybody."

So that night they went shopping. It was harder this time, now that they knew they were dressing for somebody and not just as a part of the job. They settled on a seafoam green gauzy dress, that contrasted nicely with her hair and white skin.

"You look just like a…mermaid princess or something." said Eileen appreciatively.

Meara laughed.

"I feel good."

"You can tell sweetie. You're glowing."

It felt nice to spend money on something frivolous. She hadn't done that in a while. What with student loans and now rent for the apartment, and she had just bought a bunch of furniture.

The next day, Meara and Eileen went out to lunch together and talked and laughed the whole time. Neither had realized just how lonely they were until they had somebody to eat a meal with again.

Meara discovered that Eileen was twenty-eight, married her high school sweetheart at nineteen, and was divorced by twenty-three. The divorce had left her with very little money, but she was not a woman to be easily beaten. She had gone to college on her own ticket, earned a BA in Journalism, and accepted the first job offer that came her way which happened to be in Gotham City. She bought her own things, paid her own rent, and got along just fine by herself thank you very much. She cried a little recounting the story to Meara, and they toasted to being young, single and independent.

---------------------------------------------

Bruce Wayne and Alfred had been talking about the party the entire day. Or more specifically, the host of the party. And how Bruce was going to be sneaky and search the house without the host knowing.

They had long suspected Grey of illicit activities, but it was never anything to get extremely worked up about. Most inhabitants of Gotham dabble in petty crime a little bit. But then documents in a high profile court case seemed to vanish into thin air. Nobody had any idea what had happened to them. Documents that nobody was supposed to know about, documents locked up in a safe at a lawyer's daughter's house, in a closet. Well, those things don't just turn into vapor. The only possible thing that could have happened what that the man under investigation knew the documents were a liability to his status as a free man. Maybe that man knew the prosecution had the documents. And maybe he had a friend that was extremely good at breaking and entering. Maybe.

It just so happened that in this particular case, the man in the hot seat was good friends with James Grey. It also happened that Grey had a vested interest in seeing his friend stay out of prison for his own financial reasons.

Bruce had a hunch. Tonight was going to be more than just a social call.

-----------------------------------------------

That night, Bruce picked Meara up at her house. He insisted. His logic was that she didn't have a car, she couldn't walk in an evening gown, she certainly couldn't take the bus, and under no circumstances would she call a taxi. She was a little embarrassed about where she lived. The apartment complex was no Wayne Manor. But she gave him the address anyway. He trekked up to her floor, rang the doorbell, and when she opened the door, drew in a breath.

"You look stunning." he said simply

"Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself."

"Thank you."

He offered her an arm and smiling a little, she took it. She vaguely thought that they would look quite ridiculous to anybody coming up the stairs right now, but at the same time she didn't care.

She kept feeling his eyes on her for a few seconds at a time as he tried to descend the old stairs without falling, make sure she didn't fall, and steal surreptitious glances at the same time. He would look ahead at the stairs, look at her feet to make sure her dress wasn't going to trip her, and then look at her profile. But every time she went to look back at him, his eyes were straight ahead.

"I've been trying to think of what you look like and I've figured it out." he announced as he opened the door to the limo for her and climbed in after.

"Mermaid royalty."

He got a little confused when she started laughing.

Dinner was fun. Bruce asked for a discreet booth and they got to it pretty easily. Meara wasn't used to this sort of attention. People were openly staring at them. She was nervous with Bruce suddenly, which was new. She felt awkward, like a poseur. A poor girl masquerading as a rich girl. She was very quiet throughout dinner, and he seemed tense. But just when she was starting to regret coming, he looked up at her and said sincerely

"I'm very glad that you're coming to this thing with me."

Which made it all better for some reason. They finished eating, and made their way back out to the limo in companionable silence. Making their way out through the throng of people in the front, he put his hand protectively on the small of her back. It was a little gesture, but she appreciated it.

Upon reaching the mansion of James Grey, Bruce jumped out and went around to get her door. She climbed out as gracefully as could be managed and straightened up next to him.

Neither was aware of how interesting the evening was going to be.


	8. I Feel My World is Tumbling

-1I had band camp all this week and I have it next week too, which is why I haven't updated.

Listen to Rain City by Turin Brakes while you're reading the dancing/invisible bubble scene. Cause that's what I was listening to while writing it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Who is _that_?" Jayme asked his friend Richard. The two twenty-somethings were staring at a tall brunette who had just walked in, and was now scanning the room. She seemed to be alone.

Meara's eyes landed on the guys who were openly staring at her. She smiled and approached them.

"Hi guys! Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Meanwhile, Bruce was on the second floor of the house.

As soon as they had entered, he leaned into her ear to whisper that he needed to go speak to somebody but he'd be back in a few minutes and would she be okay flying solo for a bit? She reminded him that she was a reporter.

He saw her into the room, spirited a drink into her hand, and strode off. She tried to calm her heart, which was having palpitations from having his lips suddenly almost brushing her ear. They would have looked like lovers to an onlooker.

Bruce sunk into the shadows and walked with a purpose like he had every right to be ascending the stairs, entering his host's study, and flicking through papers. He went over the room thoroughly and found nothing except one bank notice that had James Grey's name on it. The piece of paper was not the normal dimensions. It looked as though the top had been cut off. He slipped back into place, thinking of all the things that could possibly have been at the top of that paper. Maybe the name of man who had been arrested?

As he went back down the stairs to reclaim Meara for himself, he paid no attention to the man and woman standing by themselves in the entrance hall who seemed to be lost in discussion. He didn't notice the earpiece in the man's ear, and he didn't feel the eyes boring into his back as he reentered the ballroom.

-------------------------------------------------------

Meara was satisfied with what she had got from Jayme and Richard. They had bragged about their family's status in the community, their positions at the company, and their massive vacation houses in Italy and Greece. She managed to talk to them for a full ten minutes without divulging the fact that she was a reporter. Actually the only thing that she had told them was her name. They were more than happy to talk about themselves to a pretty girl. She now had enough to write another column.

She felt a hand touch her arm and she turned to see Bruce. Why did she feel hot looking at him? He looked pretty collected which was not fair. Apparently his effect on her was much greater than what she did to his libido.

He was trying to not seem over anxious. She did something to him that he hadn't felt in a long time. He cared about what she thought of him, which was a new experience entirely. He asked her to dance. As they slowly spun around the room, a very strange thing happened. An invisible bubble formed around them. They were completely unaware of the other people in the room, they were almost unaware of the music they were moving to. Once again they didn't speak at all and it was somehow comfortable. She felt lighter than she had felt in a very long time and secure for the first time in a while. To be near him seemed the most natural thing in the world. The music stopped and so did they accordingly, but they simply stood there looking at each other with fresh eyes. Something was beginning that neither could control.

The bubble disappeared and the rest of the world came back into focus. They danced again, and again and again. But now they were talking and laughing.

At the end of the evening, they left James Grey's manor arm in arm and he realized that this was the first time he had ever walked out of one of these parties feeling content. And it was nice having somebody to talk to in the sea of couples and laughing friends.

Bruce couldn't know that James Grey was looking down at him from the dark window of his study.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Bruce, a true gentleman, walked Meara back up to her apartment. She debated about whether or not she should invite him in just for something to drink, but then recoiled at the thought of him maybe thinking that was her being very forward and thinking it was an invitation to bed. With her cheeks very red, she thanked him profusely for the evening. He was gracious and warm and told her it was very nice having somebody to talk to and even dance with. As he turned to walk back downstairs, he pushed his hands in his pockets. She leaned against the doorframe looking longingly at his back. He looked really good from behind.

She shut the door and made her way back to her room to change into pajamas. Curling up on the couch and trying not to cry, she flipped on the TV looking for something to take her mind off of Bruce. She was irritated with herself for being so rude, he probably thought she had absolutely no manners now. Scrubbing tears off her face, she wondered why sex was such a massive thing, whether you were having it or you weren't. There was no escape. She should have invited him in. But that would have been awkward. She would have messed that up quickly by saying the wrong thing. She sank into the couch and watched Will & Grace without really watching it. Bruce was the first person she had ever really seriously wanted to sleep with, and that kind of terrified her.

Bruce however had a bounce in his step as he got back in the limo. She was even prettier when she blushed. He was sure that she had almost invited him in


	9. The Lamp and a Strange Turn of Events

-1Does somebody want to explain to me how this document thing works? It says that it will only keep some of my documents for thirty more days. What does that mean?

Also, for this story, I have an excellent sad ending in mind and I have a happy ending. Do you guys want a happy or sad one, or do you care? Tell me.

-------------------------------------------------------

Bruce asked her to another ball the next week. At the end of the night they walked slowly up the stairs not saying much for the first time that night. She was acutely aware of the nearness of his body, of the way he smelled, of the way his hair fell. She was conscious of her own body too. This was the first time she had wanted so badly for a guy to think she was pretty. She wanted him to want her. Obviously he was attracted to her but she didn't know just how much. They reached her door and she stood there looking at him for a few seconds. She was about to get her keys out of her handbag and go inside when he took her hand and studied it and then looked up at her. Without saying a single word he leaned in closer and touched his lips to hers, in what would not even qualify as a kiss. Her heart stopped. Why was his mouth so ridiculously sexy? He pressed harder and one hand moved around to her back. They sunk into a time warp in which the seconds seemed like minutes. After the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her fully and held her for a long time. She loved the feeling of his body in the expensive tuxedo. His shoulders seemed huge, she could feel the massive strength of his arms through the fabric and the solidness of his torso. She wondered briefly what he did to stay so in shape but then he moved his head so his cheek was pressed against her temple and lost that train of thought. They let go of each other and he said softly and earnestly

"I'm glad you didn't listen to your mom when she said to not come here."

She was totally unaware that Bruce was keeping an eye on her while wearing a black body suit and cape. Bruce Wayne was growing very fond of this young reporter and as a result, Batman was pulling long hours watching her to make sure she was safe. Gotham was often cruel to the innocent.

The next few weeks went too fast for Meara. Bruce asked her to dinner and to society balls frequently. She usually could coerce some poor unsuspecting young man into giving her all she needed to write the society column and she spent the rest of the evening with Bruce. They danced, they took strolls through massive gardens, they stood off to the side and simply talked. It was heavenly.

Never before had she had somebody that was _there_. Somebody to talk to about all the meaningless things that happen at parties. Somebody to stand with. It was lovely to be separated, talking to different people on the opposite side of the room, and to look up and catch his eye from yards away. There was something terribly intimate about the whole thing. She avoided the whole messy sex issue for a very long time and he did not bring it up. He admitted to himself that he wanted to be with her in every way possible and everything about her turned him on, but he was also content to just be close to her for the time being, and look at her from across the room and realize that she was with him. She was able to hold his attention effortlessly without climbing into bed with him. When he walked her up to her door at night, he kissed her perfectly and then walked away without waiting to be invited in.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

James Grey was not pleased. Bruce Wayne had been in his private study and not taken or moved anything. Why? What did Wayne have to do with any of his private dealings? Did he have connections with the prosecution in this messy court case?

Grey sighed and leaned back in his chair. It would make him less nervous if he knew where Wayne stood. It was terribly disconcerting to not know what he was about. And then there was his stupid nephew Alex. Those newspaper clippings must be got back as soon as possible. Maybe tonight. Yes, probably tonight would be best. Then he could focus on Wayne. He picked up his cell phone, dialed, and heard his sister's son's irritatingly thick voice answer.

"Uncle?"

The stupid boy never called him Uncle James, just Uncle.

"Alex. We're going to your old apartment tonight."

--------------------------------------------------------------

Eileen was in a good mood. She was living vicariously through Meara, it was the closest she had ever been to high society and she gobbled up every detail that Meara divulged. Meara, realizing this, kept nothing back. She told everything, everything except her complicated feelings involving Bruce's body and her bed.

The two women were sitting on the couch in Meara's apartment eating popcorn and watching Conan hop around on the TV. At the moment though, the volume was turned down and Meara was relating (with sweeping hand motions) the grandeur of the manor she had been in a few nights ago. The height of ceilings, how everything was inlaid and gilded to within an inch of it's life, the attitudes of the party attendees. Eileen gasped when she heard about the fountain in the garden that was as big as this apartment and twice as high, and laughed at Meara's exaggerated impression of the snooty old ladies who constantly looked down their noses and were always looking for trophy wives for their precious sons. They did not hear the window in the bedroom open. They did not hear silent creeping over the sill and onto the floor. They did however hear the old lamp that was under the window topple over and the muffled swear that followed. Both stopped talking immediately and stopped breathing. Somebody was in the house. Meara soundlessly rose from the couch and then, ghostlike, moved into the kitchen and returned with a can of pepper spray. Eileen looked panicked and shook her head wildly indicating that going back there and confronting the noise was a very bad idea. Meara held a finger to her lips and disappeared down the hall. Eileen, very pale, looked around frantically for something dangerous and ended up grabbing her purse. It was very heavy indeed. She followed after.

Meara stood just outside the room for a moment, took a breath then jumped in with the pepper spray held at the ready. She nearly dropped at what she saw. The host of a ball she had attended not long ago, James Grey, stood in her bedroom scowling at a tall chubby guy who looked to be about Meara's age. The chubby person was bleeding copiously from the ankle and foot region. He appeared to have stepped directly into the dusty lamp that Meara hadn't gotten around to moving yet. The second she walked in, several things happened at the same time. Chubby person made a jerky leap for her bureau, Meara freaked and pressed the button on the can, and Grey's hand flew into his jacket, presumably in search of a gun. But he never pulled it out. Because right then another figure entered the scene. Batman glided through the window and landed on the carpet between Meara and Alex who was yelling and wiping his eyes and Grey, now frozen with his hand still in his jacket. And that was when Eileen, lurking outside the door decided to leap into the fray. She walked in swinging her bag at the nearest unfamiliar figure, which happened to be Batman. Eileen landed a hefty thump on his arm which, catching him by surprise, knocked him off balance. He turned in confusion to see what who had hit him with something heavy and glittery. The instant he looked away, Grey grabbed the still howling Alex and made his escape out the window. Batman started toward the window, then stopped short and turned to look at Meara. Eileen was babbling apologies but Meara was wide eyed looking at him, her shaking hand still gripping the pepper spray.

Bruce was in still in Batman mode. In his husky alter-ego voice he soothed Eileen to shut her up and taking Meara's shoulders he steered her out of her bedroom (which was really only a mattress waiting for a bed frame) toward the couch. He helped her lay down and that was when she snapped out of the daze she was in.

"You're Batman." she declared with a pleased expression on her face.

He couldn't help but smile tenderly. Trust her to ignore the fact that her home had just been invaded and revel in the fact that she was meeting a superhero.

"Your pepper spray was excellent. That stuff comes in handy."

"How did you just…How did you know…?"

"I happened to be passing by."

"Yeah right." she said laughing.

He was reminded of the coffee shop and _Whatever dude, you're not a spelunker._

She let it go though and moved to the next item of business.

"Why was James Grey in my house?"

"I was going to ask you that."

"And who was that other guy?"

"The one you annihilated with pepper spray? I've seen him before, at Grey's parties. I don't know who he is though."

She thought of how the man had jumped when she walked in the room but not at her. He had moved towards her chest of drawers.

Without saying anything to Batman, she got off the couch ignoring his protests that she was in shock and went to go take a closer look at those drawers. She hadn't even looked in all of them, she didn't have nearly enough clothes to fill them. She methodically looked through every one and found something in the bottom right drawer. A stack of newspaper clippings. She flipped through them. They were all about a break ins.

"What?" asked Batman standing behind her, reacting to the surprised look on her face.

He took the newspaper clippings from her hand, flipped through them as she had, and put two and two together.

"I think we just accidentally unmasked James Grey."


	10. Wet Hands

-1Meara stared at him. Eileen piped up.

"That's ridiculous. That man has enough money, why would he do petty break-ins?"

Meara was still staring. She had seen that nose before. How had she seen that nose? Why was he so familiar?

"Not for the money. For more important things…things like…DOCUMENTS"

Now Batman was up and running for the window. Eileen knelt the start to clean up the obliterated lamp but he turned and said

"Leave it for the police."

He was about to jump when a hand clamped on his arm. Her voice was soft, uncertain.

"Do I know you?"

He looked at her for a few long seconds his head spinning.

"No."

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Bruce sat at home the next day. Well, "sat" is the wrong word. He was on the treadmill for a while and in his study for a while and spend a little time in the southeast corner under the house doing God knows what. He was torn. Meara had called last night right when he walked in. her voice was shaky but not tearful. She related the whole incident, and he could sense that she had been more upset than she had let on earlier. He didn't wait for her to ask quietly if she could spend the night at his house, sparing her pride. Her told her to come over right away, there were plenty of guest rooms, he didn't want her alone in that apartment, nonsense he had been wanting to see her again anyway and Alfred liked having a female presence in the house. It seemed more civilized. He didn't voice the fact that she was not longer safe in that apartment now that she had seen Grey. He would feel better with her near him.

So she came over. He hugged her tense body right when she walked in and felt her muscles relax after he told her with a straight face that she felt like a block of wood. She wiped a few tears away quickly but not before he saw. He pushed her hair away from her face and declared

"You need a drink."

She snorted and followed him into the kitchen.

That was last night. He hadn't questioned her anymore about the night, he got her set up in her room and she was too tired to talk much.

She knew right away. There was no question. Or if she didn't, she had figured it out by now. The way she had looked at him would have broken another man less practiced in mental discipline.

He flung the knife he had been working with against the wall in a sudden fit of frustration. Ridiculously sharp, it pinned itself into the soft wood of a pillar. He took a breath and linked his hands on the back of his head.

Earlier he had made an anonymous call to the police saying he had witnessed the break-in but hadn't revealed James Grey yet. They would visit the apartment, get blood from the lamp shards and figure it out in a few days. In the meantime, he wanted a crack at James Grey himself first. He had the stolen papers from the court case. And if Bruce's intuition was right (it had yet to be wrong actually) then there was a whole lot of other illicit items in Grey's house. That had been a big stack of articles.

Once he made his way up to the main level he went in search of her and came upon a sight in the kitchen that made him smile. She was teaching Alfred how to make "chocolate chip cookies that are so good it's silly". Bruce hadn't seen Alfred so loose since…ever. She was imitating a familiar over-zealous TV chef and Alfred was actually chuckling freely. He straightened when he saw Bruce though.

"Hello Master Wayne." he said with a smile.

Meara stopped hopping around the counter like a mad ferret and looked up at him, slightly abashed.

"Hi."

"I hope you were intending to find me and bring me some of those cause I haven't had a chocolate chip cookie in so long. Feel sorry for me."

"I do." she said sympathetically as he slunk toward the counter and then

"That was a fabulous try" swatting his hand away from the dough

He still managed to get a covered finger though and leaped away from the oven mitt she swung at him while stuffing his finger in his mouth.

Alfred took this opportunity to discreetly leave the room. He had resigned himself to the fact that Master Wayne was going to forge on ahead in his relationship with this young woman. Alfred had started to like her, and Bruce had enough trouble with conveying emotion without his butler there. He planned to go make himself busy and invisible in the Batcave for the afternoon.

"You know, you're a lot looser in your own house. Not as…upright and dignified. Not that there's anything wrong with that" she blushed "but it's nice to know you're multi faceted."

He was obediently helping her spoon out cookies onto the sheet, because she had reasoned that the faster they got in the oven the faster they could eat them.

He looked up at her and said a little grimly

"I'm full of surprises."

They finished and washed their hands next to each other at the sink. His arm hair brushed against her and her stomach clenched. She turned to look at him and found his eyes already on her as though waiting for her to turn her head, for the opportunity. He leaned forward and planted his lips firmly against hers pushing her head back a little bit, fumbling with one hand to turn off the faucet and the other hand went to the small of her back. With water running down both of their arms they moved away from the sink. He backed her purposefully against the counter and moved to get a better angle on her mouth. Bruce broke away from her wet lips for a moment to kiss her jaw line and she breathed

"Alfred?"

He blinked at her and pressed his forehead against hers, pushing his fingers into her hair. That was the last she though of Alfred for a while. After a bit, he moved her expertly toward the stairs without breaking contact. She was too dazed at this point to argue, she didn't want him to stop touching her in this lifetime. He lead her up the stairs and into his bedroom. Before closing the door, he stopped and looked at her, but she decisively closed it behind her and reached for his shirt. They fell onto his massive bed in a tangle of clothes, his grunting efforts to remove the clothes, and her giggling. Eventually they were down to their underwear, him over her. It had slowed down, they were looking at each other now with shock.

Eight minutes ago she was standing downstairs fully clothed, what had just happened? He sensed her trepidation as much as he felt it. She went rigid. Bruce tried to tear his hungry eyes away from her body, porcelain skin and doe eyes and rolled off of her. She looked tenderly at him, in his boxer briefs sitting at the edge of the bed, taking in his physique which up till now she had only felt briefly when he kissed or hugged her. The man was in top form, she couldn't see any body fat. The distance between them felt immense, a vast stretch of blankets and sheets and she was aware of her own near-nakedness. Suddenly the spunky hard headed streak reared up in her. She crawled over to him and summoning up all of her confidence, she put her hands on his face and murmured .

"This won't do."

She placed her lips carefully on the corner of his mouth. He kissed her back eagerly for a moment, but then pulled away.

"You don't have to feel bad about anything."

They sat in companionable silence on the bed.


	11. Untapped Strength

Thank you for all the nice reviews you guys, they're really encouraging and force me to start a new chapter when I don't really feel like it. Special shout out to sugarlove who keeps reviewing and Raging Raven who is pushy and will not allow idleness. J

And I would really appreciate it if somebody who knows about the document thing would explain it to me.

Sorry for the long wait, school is insanely busy. I'll keep posting, but not as frequently as before.

She was stuck in a rut, that was it. As Meara browsed through the produce aisle, she tried to look at the situation dispassionately with clear vision. She was both proud of herself and surprised at how far she had gone with Bruce, her clothes hadn't been ripped off in a frenzy since…well…ever, come to think of it. They had come off with Emil but it had felt more goofy and embarrassing than hot.

Oh well, though. The sex thing would come in time, or it wouldn't. She felt more at peace with the issue than she had in a long time.

She giggled to herself as she inspected nectarines. He had a _really _good body. And never once had it felt awkward. She had eventually gotten off the bed and they had both re-clothed, her in the adjoining bathroom. When she had come out he was gone and further search of him turned up a note next to a plate of cookies (bless him for having remembered to take them out). He had some business to take care of evidently, the cookies were ridiculously good, and he had signed the note "Bruce" with a heart. She treasured that heart.

---------------------------------------------------

Bruce had strode out of the house feeling slightly guilty for leaving her in the bathroom like that, but the situation was dire. He hadn't gotten a raging erection like that in a while, and he didn't want her to feel it or see it. The instant she disappeared he leapt up and put his clothes back on, trying to calm himself, thinking about work that needed to be done, the mystery of James Grey, the Virgin Mary for chrissake, anything to get the image of her body out of his mind's eye. That body that he had been touching and kissing, the body that was tauntingly underneath him for a few precious moments before he felt it go from flexible and eager to suddenly unyielding. The woman needed a masseuse, there was no way that kind of stiffness was good for her muscles.

He had meant what he said too. The fact that she wasn't willing to round the bases with him even though she was attracted to him was impressive. There was something to be said for a little mystique. But God, that body…

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Bruce's phone rang that night, while he was under the house working on his Batmobile. The bloody piece of machinery has so many pieces something seemed to go wrong every other week.

"Hey! Are you busy? Am I interrupting something involving a lot of money?"

He dropped the wrench, and started to close the hood.

"Not at all."

"OK. Do you think it would be possible for me to meet Batman again?"

The hood fell with an enormous crash, narrowly missing his hand. She had his full attention.

"What was that?! Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, some idiot dropped a box of car parts I'm walking by the Jiffy Lube right now. Why do you want to see him again?" he tried to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Well, I'd like to write about him. Wouldn't that be a particularly interesting society column? Then maybe Stanton would promote me."

"I don't think you need to get Batman for Stanton to promote you. You're doing really well on your own."

She sighed.

"Maybe it was a dumb idea. But you have to admit it would be pretty awesome."

He could hear the grin in her voice and could picture her face perfectly.

"What are doing at exactly this moment?" he asked his voice a little softer.

Meara smiled on the other end.

"I'm sitting in the sun room doing absolutely nothing, it's lovely."

"I'm coming home in about half an hour. I want you to stay for a while longer Meara. I would feel better if you stayed away from that apartment…"

He trailed off embarrassed, hoping that she didn't think he was going to try to lure her back to his bed. Although it was an enticing thought.

"Alright, but I'm not moving in. What would Alfred think?" she said with mock horror.

Bruce didn't say what Alfred would think.

What had happened earlier in the day filled the phone line with unsaid words and silent apologies, but she barreled though it with determination.

She told him she would make dinner, she was in the mood to cook she hadn't done it in a while. He told her that under no circumstances would a guest in his house act like a maid cooking and cleaning.

"I have no intention of cooking or cleaning, I just feel like making barbecue chicken and parmesan potatoes cause I haven't had homemade food in a while and your kitchen is nicer than mine."

"How do you make parmesan potatoes?" he asked with visions of buttery cheesy goodness dancing in his mind.

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Upon Bruce's insistence, Meara stayed a lot longer than she intended. There were no more incidents, both parties had enough self control to stop themselves from doing something stupid. Even when she accidently walked into his exercise room to find him shirtless and sweaty watching CNN on the treadmill. She immediately leapt back and shut the door, but the image of his abdomen and biceps was burned into her brain. And he kept his cool when he encountered her in the hallway upstairs, wearing nothing but a towel and still wet from the shower. His eyes were drawn instantly to a drop of water slowly making it's way down over her collar bone, curve slightly over the top of her breast and disappear under the towel. He did a one-eighty turn and gulped wishing he could evaporate. She practically ran down the hall murmuring something in passing about getting her shirt from the dryer. But he was too busy saying the Hail Mary to hear her.

There was no doubt that sexual tension was running high.

Bruce asked Meara to another ball this time held at a manor outside of town. She agreed quickly, and he asked her with a half-smile if she might wear that red dress again.

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Bruce and Meara were so caught up in thoughts of each other that James Grey hardly entered their heads. If they had stopped to think about it, what happened next might never had occurred.

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They were leaving a little earlier than usual in order to get to the party on time. Meara got ready in a dreamlike state thinking about what might happen tonight. Funny things happened while she was wearing this red dress. She pledged to keep an open mind.

Bruce tied his bow tie absently making adjustments to his tuxedo. He had an odd feeling in his stomach. He never usually wanted to go to these things, but he had been enjoying them lately with Meara. Tonight though, he wanted nothing more than sit on the couch with her with as many blankets as possible, huge mugs of hot chocolate and possibly a little cuddling and kissing. That sounded really good right now. But he had already RSVP'ed. Ah well.

They took a limo out to the mansion, which was actually more like a plantation. Night had fallen by the time they reached the massive white house set right next to a forest.

They were greeted by the hosts, an extremely elderly couple who seemed to think that it was still the 1930's.

Bruce relaxed a little bit when they reached the rest of party and danced with Meara quite a bit. He didn't see James Grey enter the room. The evening went smoothly and Bruce concluded that his fear had been irrational and dumb. He and Meara decided to leave early in order to back before midnight. They made they're way down the ridiculously long entrance hall which was void of people aside from themselves. The sounds of the party had long faded away by the time they reached the door.

"One second." said Meara slipping into the bathroom. Bruce went to find their coats and as he was coming back he saw three figures outside the bathroom. He reacted almost instantly but they were anticipating him. Two grabbed his arms and the other quickly jabbed something into his neck. He stopped struggling at once, sinking to the ground.

"He bit me." one of the thugs complained examining his hand. He looked at Bruce with great dislike and aimed a few kicks that would have killed it's victim had they connected with the head.

Two men moved quickly off back down the hall to make sure nobody came while the remaining man moved the body. This was when Meara came out of the bathroom. She saw the man leaning over Bruce's prone form, and did the first thing that came to mind. She turned around and grabbed the heaviest thing she saw which was the porcelain cover of the toilet tank. She heaved it up and as quietly as possible moved behind the man and swung it with as much force as possible at his head. The thug dropped soundlessly to the floor but the porcelain cover hit the floor with a resounding crack. The two guards came running back down the hall just as Meara, figuring out that Bruce wasn't dead was trying to pull him towards the door. As the thugs came towards her, she fumbled in her handbag ripped out her trusty can of pepper spray and hit the guys right in the eyes. One fell back, tripped on his prone cohort, and cracked his head on the solid floor. He did not get up. The other was bent double with his hands over his face. Meara flung the door open and with strength she didn't know she had, heaved Bruce up and staggered out into the night. The limo was thankfully close and when the driver saw her he leapt out to help get his limp employer back into the car.

Meara got out her cell phone and called Alfred's phone, praying that he pick up. He did.

"Meara? What's wrong?"

She rattled off quickly what had happened.

"I don't know what to do! If it was poison it might have spread--"

"Calm down, do exactly what I tell you to do. Under the seat there's a black plastic box. In it, there is a red transparent tube with a plastic hose attached. You need to place the open part over wherever the injection was and make it a vacuum."

With trembling hands she followed the instructions and then barked "Now what?!"

"Check if he's hurt anywhere else. You need to take his clothes off and see if they stuck a monitor on him or broke anything."

She obediently ripped off the many layers of clothes Bruce wore, running her finger tips over him. His top half seemed bruised and bloody but not broken. She struggled to get his pants off, but once she saw his legs, she gasped. They were definitely broken. Alfred talked her through it.

"Take the trouser legs and wrap them tightly around where you think the break is. Don't move him."

When they got home Alfred was waiting for them and he helped Meara, calm and focused by now, to get the man who was bigger than both of them out of the car and into the house. Alfred, with foresight, had dragged a covered mattress into the front hall so they laid him down and Alfred checked to see if his master would survive, Meara hovering off his shoulder. After checking him thoroughly, Alfred turned to her with a relieved sort of smile and said he would live. His legs were broken but not badly, and his ribs would only be bruised. He looked at her thoughtfully.

"How did you manage to get him to the car miss? We two had a hard time of it, you were by yourself."

She hugged herself, and thought about it.

"I'm not sure Alfred, if I knew I would tell you. I was…freaking out. The only thing I could think of was getting him out of that house. I picked him up and half carried half dragged him out."

Alfred smiled in understanding.

"Sometimes miss, crisis draws untapped strength to the surface. You're adrenaline probably saved your life and his."

After reassuring herself that Bruce would indeed be ok, and kissing his lips quickly and covertly, she stumbled up the stairs to bed.

Before drifting off, she remembered where she had seen one of those men before. At that ball she attended at James Grey's home.


	12. Truth

-1I have a lot of stuff going on. I promise I will finish this thing, slowly, but it'll get done. I have the peak already typed out and ready to go.

The reason Meara saved Bruce and not the other way around is cause I'm a feminist and I'm sick of the damsel in distress scenario. Gag me.

----------------------------------------------------------

Meara decided to keep what she had remembered to herself for the time being. What was important now was getting Bruce back to normal. He was out cold for three days, and when he woke up he did not remember what happened. Meara explained it to him and he looked at her for a long time.

"So you carried me?" he asked groggily, trying to straighten it out in his mind. She felt his eyes looking in confusion at her arms, which were clearly lacking muscle.

They were sitting on the massive couch in the living room. Bruce's shins were in casts and his legs were on her lap. She was bent over in concentration, Sharpies arrayed around her. An sprawling cityscape was coming to life under her fingers, with sidewalks and signs and storefronts. She wasn't an artist, but writers pay attention to detail. Plus, Meara found it easier to talk if she didn't have to look at him. There were a lot of confusing thoughts spinning in her head, not the least of which how she had felt when she stepped out of the bathroom and saw Bruce lying on the floor. The fear that instantly flooded her stomach. That was too strong of an emotion to have about a man she had known so short a time.

"Meara?" he asked softly, his voice surprisingly, disarmingly tender.

She stopped drawing, and looked up slowly.

"Thank you."

She smiled tentatively, then put down the Sharpie.

"There's something I need to tell you" she said.

"Oh no…" he said smiling cautiously.

She looked worried, that worried him.

"The guys that beat you up, I saw them at James Grey's house when we went there for that party."

Bruce sat up so fast one of his casted legs fell off the couch and hit the floor with a clunk. Gone was the lazy demeanor, he was suddenly alert.

"Are you sure??"

"Yes I'm sure."

With no further words, he reached for his wheelchair sitting by the couch and frantically swung himself into it. She padded after him silently as he rolled furiously into the kitchen to pick up his cell phone.

"It's Albert's day off." he answered her silent question, as he punched a button on the phone.

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If a person happened to be taking a walk out in the country side on this fine day, and on their walk saw a large manor house set out away from the main road, and decided to walk past it just to marvel at the splendor, and happened to pass on the east side of the house, they might have heard quite a bit of yelling emitting from the second story window.

James Grey was in a raging humor. Bruce Wayne was supposed to be safely stowed in this house right now, but instead the idiots that worked for him screwed it up. They had Wayne. They let him disappear. It was inexcusable. The three goons were in his office right now, and receiving the tongue lashing of their lives.

"Did any of you see him with somebody earlier on in the night?"

"Yes, he was with a girl. The same one he was with here that one night."

That was all Grey needed to know.

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Meara hadn't seen Bruce or Albert all day. Once Bruce called his trusty butler, the man had materialized at the door in what seemed like only a few minutes. The two of them had disappeared with vague excuses that Meara had no intention of swallowing. Afterall, she was a journalist and she was involved with James Grey too. As she quietly followed them down the hall, she rationalized that the man had broken into her apartment, she had a right to know what was going on. Under normal circumstances, she never would have been able to find them. The house was too big and Meara had no idea what she was looking for. But Bruce was in a wheelchair which slowed him down drastically, and he was worried and talking to Albert in low tones. She was in an unfamiliar part of the house now, and the voices were echoing off the walls suddenly differently. She sped up just in time to see two heads disappearing down a curious looking elevator shaft.

It was highly suspicious. _Well there's nothing I can do now but wait _she thought, making her way back into familiar territory.

And wait she did…and she was still waiting, reading Jane Eyre for the thirty-fifth time. When they finally came back into the kitchen looking absent minded, she rounded on them at once.

"Where did you go?" she asked, innocently.

"Just…downstairs."

"Well I followed you actually, and I was not aware that there was a lower level to this house than the basement."

Bruce looked surprised, then resigned.

"I guess this was inevitable. This is what I get for bringing a journalist into my house."

"I want to know. He was in my home and broke my lamp that was probably an antique now that I think about it. Talk."

He was staring at her with an odd look on his face, like he was trying to decide something. Then he turned to look at Albert who nodded his head once.

"After your incident sir, I would trust her with both of our lives."

That seemed to be the tipping point. Bruce said "Come with me" and wheeled back out of the room. She obeyed instantly.

After a minute it dawned on her where they were going, and she was silent as they got on the elevator and descended. When they reached the bottom though, she couldn't have spoken if she wanted to.

They were in a cave, underground obviously. And there were bats…a lot of bats. And then she noticed the work tables…and the lab…and the freaky car. Neither of them got off the elevator and he waited a moment to say anything.

"I've never told anybody this. Nobody knows except for Albert and myself. And now you."

She turned to him anticipating what he was going to say.

"I'm Batman."


	13. Dreamy Foamy Sweet

-1The slow drip of water somewhere echoed in the cave.

She stared at him like he was slightly dangerous, then rallied and said

"No you're not."

He looked surprised, then he doubled over in his wheelchair with laughter.

"Of everything you could have said, I was _not _expecting that."

"You can't be Batman. Batman is a superhero." she said stubbornly.

He wheeled over to a metal cabinet against the wall and opened the doors. The black suit hung there. She sat down in the elevator, too surprised to keep telling him he wasn't Batman.

"I couldn't tell you. I liked you too much to tell you."

She remained silent.

"If you knew…if somebody else found out…it would be too dangerous…"

Not a word.

"Please say something."

She stood up slowly and said

"I guess this means I get my interview with Batman after all."

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It was night. The three goons, upon revealing that Bruce had in fact been with a woman, the same woman at the both parties, suddenly found themselves off the hook. Grey was no longer angry, but pensive.

"What are we going to do?" a bold one asked.

Grey stood at the window, staring out over the dark trees at the moon. He had time. He had lots of time. The ball was in his court. Moths bumped up against the window, drawn to the light.

"We wait."

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And James Grey waited. He waited for six months, planning and collecting information and thinking. What he found was interesting. He hired a statistician to do work on Bruce Wayne and a curious pattern was discovered. It seemed that Bruce had done a good job of keeping out of the public eye, but every time Batman made an appearance, Bruce was never around. And his men reported that Bruce had some very high tech gear attached to his belt, small and sleek and ideal for somebody in Batman's line of work. It was a very long shot, but more and more pieces were starting to come together. _The key was the girl _he kept telling himself. If he could just get to the girl.

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Six months had passed. Meara moved back into her apartment after Bruce installed some sweet new security gadgets. He and Alfred worked on it one Friday afternoon, with her there doing whatever they told her to do. She felt safe in her bed.

Bruce's legs healed slowly but surely, and as his bones mended his relationship with Meara grew. She got her interview's worth and more. He remembered the night he had first seen her in a red dress and the day at the coffee shop. She was the most elusive person he had ever met and she both frustrated and intrigued him. She had never been extremely emotionally involved with a guy, she wouldn't let herself be. She was terrified of getting hurt, judged, being known. Something. He wanted to know her, he wanted to know everything about her. He dreamed about her, sometimes with more intimacy than he thought he was entitled to. They had had moments since the last encounter. He had held her lithe body in his arms and kissed her full pretty lips. But they had never taken it further, which was odd. They were full grown adults.

Meara wanted him badly. She had never felt this crazy before, this obsessed. She felt sixteen with her first insane crush. She felt irrational. Nobody else but Bruce knew what she was thinking just by looking at her face. Nobody else knew when to talk and when to shut up. She could sit with him for a full hour and it wasn't awkward. She realized one day, with a start, that she was in love with him. A kind of dreamy foamy sweet feeling eveloped her and she went to find him to say something. Anything. She found him lying on the couch reading the paper. He looked like a Levis ad with his plain navy t-shirt and jeans. Jeans looked criminally good on him. He looked up when she came in and smiled reflexively. His smile grew wider when he saw the look on her face, and wider still when she approached the couch, and leaned over the back towards his face. She got very very close to him, but he didn't laugh or blink or pull away. He stared her down. She grinned and kissed him hard. He kissed back with vigor, then pulled her easily over the back of the couch onto him. She laughed with surprise breaking their lips and he kissed her chin and throat which made her laugh more. He stopped suddenly to look at her earnestly.

"I love you." he said simply and she replied with sincere brevity

"I love you more."

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Something changed between them. Displays of affection were more frequent. She giggled more. He left her notes and flowers and bought her a necklace with a very thin gold chain and something sparkly, which he told her was much less expensive than it actually was. She baked cookies for him, and bought him CDs and whispered in his ear that her heart had beat a little stronger, a little faster since she had known him. They lay on the couch one day watching TV but not really watching. His hands rubbed her back under her shirt. She lightly rested her forehead against his, eyelashes brushing his face.

"We're gonna do something OK? I'm becoming part of you right now, but you have to concentrate."

He smiled pulling her tighter against him.

"Are you concentrating? We're one, our DNA is fusing and our cells are melting together and your heart is my heart."

"I could have told you that last part." he pointed out

"Concentrate." she ordered

"I am." but he was rather preoccupied with the feeling of her pelvis pressed against his, and her breasts crushed against his chest. He could feel her heart beating, and was acutely aware of the fact that all their parts fit together like puzzle pieces when she was on top of him like this. He was concentrating.

"OK" she said "We did it, I'm a part of you now, like it or not."

"I like it, I promise." he pressed his lips against her hairline.

She was looking at him strangely. He suddenly felt that first time, he was seeing her soul through her eyes, as the saying went. Up until now, she had kept all contact closed. He would catch a glimpse occasionally but she would break their eye contact or shift slightly and the moment would die, almost as if it had never happened. But now, the she was looking at him. She was _open._ Something in the pit of his stomach moved.

"Bruce-" she said softly, biting her lip.

He waited with bated breath.

"I'm…uhhhhI…I'm ok." she finished hazily. Oddly enough, he understood what she was trying to communicate immediately and his chest felt like it might split apart.

Instead of just going for it, he rolled a little and picked her up off the couch as he got up. He took her hand and they ran for the stairs laughing. When they reached the door to his bedroom, she spun him around and attached her mouth to his with gusto. He fumbled for the handle behind him, got the door open, and they tripped into the room. Still wrapped around each other, they fell onto his massive bed into a pile of pillows. They wanted to become a part of each other.


	14. It's What We Do That Defines Us

OK sorry to have kept some people waiting. I've been way too busy and getting into other things. If you'd like to read more of my writing go to www.thisisby.us and search for my titles. I wrote some poems called "memoirs of a fly on the wall" and "dirty pretty things" and one fiction essay called "as I was passing through". You can read my stuff that's not fanfic there.

I'm just gonna finish this thing for you. This story started with an ending so I might as well stick it in there. Peace out yall J

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So they talked. They talked for a really really long time. And after all that talking, they came to a conclusion. They had to be together. There was no getting around that one. But the problem was that she had seen him in action. She had seen him lying on a cold stone floor and thought the worst. She sure as hell was not going to go through that ever again.

She refused to cry.

And Bruce had come to his own conclusions, ones he hadn't shared with her because it would have made her mad. He had known in the deepest recesses of his mind since he met her that he would give it up. It was the same old argument: she would be in too much danger if his identity was ever discovered. It was the eleventh hour, James Grey knew and he was pissed. Bruce was resigned but determined. He could have it both way, coming back to Gotham for emergencies. But one thing was for sure. They would leave.

Six monthes later….

Two figures in dark jackets have been sitting on the boardwalk for four hours now. They're part of the scenery. Gulls have settled around them. They sit near each other, touching, but not talking. The sea is grey and insubstantial. A breeze gusts up and blows her hair into his face. They move finally, laughingly he turns to look at her then moves in to murmur something in her ear.

They take the long walk back, down the beach. The rickety house was dark but she anticipated a fire and a long snuggle on the couch. She had been on cloud nine lately. This was what it was like living in sin with your boyfriend. She liked sin. When they went in the door however, Bruce turned to her and looked at her oddly. Then said "Come with me."

Curious she followed him out into the sunroom that was not sunny today. He didn't look at her again. He went right to the window and shoved his hands in his pockets. He was like ice.

"I'm leaving."

"What do you mean?" she said confused "Where?"

"Back to Gotham."

"Bruce I thought we decided--"

"I'm not coming back. You're staying here."

She was silent. Then said quietly "No."

That shook him up. He reared his head back like a stallion and said "What do you mean 'no', yes you are."

"No I'm not. And you can't make me. I broke off all my ties, Eileen, my family. For this. And I'm keeping it dammit."

That's when he lost it completely. He spun around and crossed the floor in a split second. He grabbed her arms in a vice like grip and pinned her against the wall.

He said fiercely, "I've been going back to Gotham and haven't told you. Are you angry? You should be. I'm angry at myself. What was I thinking, coming and going like that. Anybody could have followed me…" He trailed off. She was unmoving, staring into his eyes. This seemed to infuriate him more.

"You can't understand. They will find out about you. They will know that I would do anything, go to the ends of the earth for you. They would torture, rape, kill you to get to Batman. You think I could live with myself if something happened to you because of me?"

His voice had reached a fever pitch by the end of this rant, but she remained calm, gazing into his eyes, willing him to look at her. He let go of her arms and slowly took a step back, staring at her pleadingly, broken. Then his gaze dropped to her shoes. He was going to wrench himself away from her, starting now. When he spoke his voice was low and husky.

"I'm too old for you. Too old and too dangerous. You deserve security. You deserve more than I have to offer."

He turned his back to her staring out at the trees.

She had not moved from the wall.

"So this is it then. After this, anything else would just take second place. I can't predict the future, but mine would be very drab if it didn't involve you. I believe in soul mates Bruce. Most people never find theirs, and they still lead happy lives. I feel bad for those people. Even if I never see you again after today, I'll be ok eventually. Because I had something amazing with you. Something that is impossible to replicate. Now I know that 'one true love' isn't just a mystical, fairy tale ending. It's out there…I found it. Having it for just a little while and losing it is better than thinking it doesn't exist at all."

They rushed toward each other at the same time and embraced, clinging like a castaway to dry land. She felt his hot, strong arms holding on like he never intended to let go, the full length of his body pressed against hers, his cheek against her temple. He was crushing her but she was past caring.

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Two old women sit gossiping together in a drawing room of a dreary old manor. One has come to tell the other that James Grey has been thrown in jail. Something to do with evidence from a court case. Stupid man.

"Whatever happened to that younger man? Wayne? He was withdrawn but very well-off. I was thinking of getting him for my Clara."

"Oh haven't you heard? He disappeared. The old butler Alfred still checks into the place from time to time. But the master is gone. Just up and left one day."

The other replied about how that was funny business. And they sat and sipped and moved onto other gossip.

The two dark figures walked down the beach. One took the other's hand. This is the definition of forever.


End file.
